


Sticks N Stones

by JCRGirl



Series: Just Breathe [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCRGirl/pseuds/JCRGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam provide a little eye candy for the girls at the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticks N Stones

**Author's Note:**

> Timestamp for my story Just Breathe, set 6 months after the boys flee North Carolina.

Amanda adjusted the strap on her bag, pulling it higher on her shoulder. She surveyed the area, eyes squinting against the harsh glare of sunlight despite her glasses. Just as she was internally debating whether it was better to suffer the burning scald of the midday heated sand to the soles of her feet or put up with the abrading granules in her sandals, she heard Tiffany gasp beside her.

“Oh my fucking God.”

Following her friend’s appraising gaze, Amanda’s jaw dropped as two guys emerged from the surf, playfully shaking salt water droplets from their hair at each other. The shorter, older one, clad only in a pair of black swim trunks, could make Michelangelo’s _David_ envious. Short ash blonde hair coupled with lush lips and _oh my god_ freckles to create a heartbreaking face that perfectly topped his muscular, athletic build. A tattoo was inked into the skin between the collarbone and nipple on his right side, black lines twisting and curving to form an intricate design. Muscles rippled under bronzed skin when he pushed and dodged his companion as they roughhoused their way back to their towels on the beach.  

The taller man must not have possessed the same confidence in his body image as the shorter one, standing next to a Greek god was likely to make most people take a few hits to their self-esteem, because he had paired a blue surf shirt, tight enough to hint at the muscles that lie beneath, with his plaid trunks. He was thinner and lankier with chestnut hair that curled just above the collar of his shirt. When his friend pointed at something further down the beach, he turned and she got her first glimpse at his face. 

“Sam,” she gasped in surprise.  

“You know them?” Amanda felt a little indignant at the shocked tone in Tiffany’s voice. She was completely capable of knowing hot guys.

“The tall one, yeah. He’s in my English class. The other guy must be his brother. Name starts with a D, I think. Devon, Damen, Dan…something like that.”

“Dean,” Lissa supplied, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, maybe. He’d be new in town. I think Sam started sometime before Halloween.”

Lissa looked from Tiffany to Amanda, a lecherous smirk spreading across her peach glossed lips. “He’s the new mechanic at Low Tide Auto Body. My Mom had to take the Jag in before Christmas and apparently he made quite the impression. I heard her talking about how he could lube her rear end anytime he wanted to her ‘book’ club.” She made finger quotes to emphasize her suspicion the lonely housewives that met weekly haven’t read the first book since the club’s inception six months prior. Mostly it seemed they drank and gossiped. “Since Christmas the car’s been in the shop about every two weeks. I wondered if she was breaking things on it on purpose. Now I understand why.”

Amanda barely paid attention to her friend, too wrapped up in contemplating the hidden hotness of Sam. Sam, the geeky, quiet kid that sat across from her in class and wore two shirts and baggy jeans to school every day. Who knew? 

“Over there,” Lissa hissed, pointing to an empty stretch of sand near where Sam and Dean had flopped down on two brightly colored beach towels.

Amanda shrugged her acceptance and fell into step behind her friends, deciding to keep her sandals on, as they made their way to Lissa preferred spot. Setting out their blankets and chairs took embarrassing longer than it should have, the three girls constantly bumping into each other, attention focused ten feet to their right instead of on the task at hand. Removing tank tops and cut-offs to reveal string bikinis, the girlfriends laid on their chairs, carefully posed to be simultaneously inviting and seductive, sunglasses shading the lustful glances directed at the boys.

“So spill,” Tiffany hissed at Amanda, blue eyes fixed on Dean as he rolled over on his stomach and fiddled with the knobs on the small radio next to his towel. “What do you know about them?”

“Not much. Sam’s real quiet in school, but he’s fucking smart. Like Valedictorian smart. They moved here from North Carolina and Sam’s brother, Dean, is his legal guardian. I heard their parents were killed in an accident or something. That’s all I really know,” Amanda whispered. Their position, although a prime viewing location, left them close enough to be overheard by their eye candy if they talked too loud.

“Who gives a fuck about that shit?! Are they seeing anyone?” Leave it to Lissa to get to the nuts and bolts of any situation.

“I don’t think so. I’ve never seen Sam with anyone. I don’t know about the brother though,” Amanda replied in her normal speaking voice. Dean had settled on a rock and roll station and the music was loud enough to obscure their conversation from the brothers’ ears.

“He doesn’t look like the girlfriend type, but damn I wouldn’t mind pretending for one night. I bet he fucks like a jackrabbit.” Lissa leered, pulling her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to get a better look. 

“Lissa,” Tiffany and Amanda hissed in unison. “Crude much,” Tiffany added.

Amanda leaned her head back in her chair, eyes seemingly focused on the blue-gray waves breaking over the sand bar she knew was about 15 feet off shore, but secretly watching the two boys from behind the dark tinted lenses of her knock-off D&G sunglasses.  They seemed odd for brothers, almost too nice to each other, but as an only child her experiences with sibling relationships were limited to her friend’s tales of woe and sitcoms. She kept a sideways glance on them, never much for people watching before she now was a firm convert to the Church of Covert Stalking.

Dean mouthed along with the song on the radio - Metallica maybe? – as he dug through a well-loved green cooler while Sam conducted his own search into the depths of a camouflage backpack. Smiling triumphantly, Sam’s large hand emerged clutched around a white bottle of suntan lotion. He handed it to Dean in exchange for the bottle of water the older guy held in his direction. ‘Thanks, bitch’ and ‘Back at ya, jerk’ floated to her on the sea breeze and Amanda’s lips twitched at the effort required to not smile at the banter.  

Dean rotated his bottle of water back and forth in in the sand next to him until it was half-buried in an improvised koozie, his other hand popping open the bottle of lotion. As he spread the white cream over his well-toned chest and arms, Amanda licked her lips and sighed, a sound echoed by her friends. Satisfied he’d covered the parts within reach, Dean nudged Sam’s side with the container.

“Get my back?” 

Amanda grabbed the arms of her beach chair to keep seated and from going over to offer to do it for him, grinning when she caught sight of her friend’s in similar states. Sam sat up from his reclined position and squirted the lotion directly onto Dean’s back in a smiley face pattern, causing his brother to flinch, before smoothing it in the skin. 

“Hey! That’s cold you ass.”

“Be nice or when you fall asleep I’ll put the smiley face back and not rub it in.” Sam laughed, massaging the excess cream from his hands onto Dean’s ears. Dean shoved Sam’s shoulder, pushing him over on his side, his surf shirt rucking up in the process to reveal a few inches of stomach.

“Holy shit!” And really, Amanda had to agree with Tiffany’s assessment. The teasingly brief peek she’d gotten of highly sculpted abs before Sam could cover them again was enough to make her mouth go dry. Why would anyone want to cover up a body like that?

“You’re sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend?” Lissa’s face peered around Tiffany to level Amanda with a skeptical look.

“I haven’t seen him with anybody.” She repeated her earlier statement of Sam’s relationship status.

“So he’s either gay of handicapped,” Lissa replied back, “and from here his parts look to be in perfect order to me.”

“Shhh, they’ll hear you,” Tiffany shushed, the song on the radio masking their conversation coming to an end.

“Aren’t you hot in that shirt? It’s gotta be 95 degrees out today.” Dean’s voice brought Amanda’s attention back to the live action show.

“I’m okay, Dean,” Sam replied a little too quickly.

“Dude, you’re sweating buckets.” Dean leaned over closer to his brother and lowered his voice so Amanda had to strain to hear. “Come on, Sammy. Take it off.”

“Yeah, _Sammy_ ,” Lissa purred softly. Apparently, she’d strained her hearing as well. “Take it off.” 

Amanda watched curiously as Sam looked down to his left then shook his head slightly, expression hesitant and uncomfortable. “I-I don’t think so, Dean.”

Dean’s hand landed lightly on the back of Sam’s neck and pulled him forward until their foreheads almost touched. Dean’s lips moved around words too quiet to be heard by the eavesdroppers and when he finished Sam’s ducked head nodded. Dean straightened, allowing Sam room to maneuver, and waited. Sam’s shoulders rose and fell on a deep breath as he reached down for the hem of his shirt. In one swift movement, he tugged the shirt off and set it on the towel next to him. 

“He has a tat, too,” Tiffany breathed, eyes roving over the hard lines and ridges of the newly exposed back. Amanda examined the black ink marring the honeyed skin on Sam’s right shoulder blade. It looked to be a variation of the one on Dean’s chest, the same symbols but arranged differently, the art complimenting each other without matching exactly. 

“Oh damn that’s hot. Makes him seem a little dangerous.” Amanda could practically hear Lissa’s bikini bottoms dampening.

“Fuck! Lissa’s right. He’s either gay or handicapped if some girl hasn’t snapped him up yet.” Tiffany fanned her face with the magazine she’d been pretending to read since sitting down.

Sam picked up the suntan lotion from where he’d dropped it after applying it to Dean’s back and squeezed some into his palm. He twisted and dropped the bottle back into the still open backpack. As the front of his torso came into view, Amanda had to swallow the gasp that threatened to escape. Three thin scars stretched from Sam’s left shoulder to below his right nipple, silver white against the surrounding tanned skin. However, his chest held nothing to his left arm. Amanda could make out four deep scars, running the distance of Sam’s upper arm from shoulder to elbow, puckered and indented in along the length, resembling trenches. It was apparent that whatever had caused the injury had damaged the underlying muscles as well. 

“Handicapped. Told you,” Lissa remarked, smiling smugly.

The response was immediate. Sam’s shoulders tightened and Dean’s eyes snapped to the trio for the first time, pinning them with a glare that bordered on murderous. Sam’s non-lotioned hand reached down and gripped the fabric of the surf shirt he’d stripped off moments ago, Dean’s dropping to cover it. The younger boy’s eyes, embarrassed and pained, lifted to meet his brother’s softened ones. 

“Here, let me do that,” Dean murmured calmly. He scrapped his palm across Sam’s holding the suntan cream, transferring the thick substance to it. He dabbed his index and middle fingers into the lotion, meticulously covering all seven scars in the protective salve. Dean’s concentration was intense, worship and reverence evident in his motions. Each sweep of his hand was filled with a level of love and adoration that made Amanda ache. 

When he was done, Dean rubbed the unused lotion on his hand into his chest. Sam’s fingers were still curled in the shirt and Dean gently pried them from the material. He folded it, pushed it into the backpack and zipped the bag closed with a violent tug that silently warned Sam against trying to retrieve it.

“Come on, Sasquatch. Let’s throw the ball around.” Dean jumped up, slapping Sam on the knee. He tucked the football under his arm and held out a hand to help Sam up. Sam slapped away the extended hand and shifted so he could use his right arm to get up. Dean stood patiently, but the moment his brother’s back was turned he directed another filthy stare at the three girls. Once Sam was on his feet, Dean clapped him on the back and guided him to an empty stretch of beach. 

“Way to go, making fun of the invalid brother,” Tiffany snorted at Lissa. “I think your chances with that horse, galloped away.”

“Shit!” Lissa tracked the football’s arch back and forth from one brother to the other. She bolted forward in her chair as a thought occurred to her. “Amanda! You know Sam. Smooth it over for me. Tell him something. You’re good at making up stuff.”

Sensing the impeding explosion, Tiffany picked up her magazine and thumbed through the glossy pages desperately pretending to be invisible.

 Amanda moved her glasses to the top of her head so the full effectiveness of her glare wouldn’t be lost through the amber colored plastic. “Fuck you, Lissa. School’s going to be uncomfortable enough now as it is. If you want Dean’s dick so bad, you can ‘smooth’ things over with Sam. I’d try starting with an apology first if I was you,” she spat, digging through her orange canvas bag for her school issued copy of Wuthering Heights. 

Lissa blanched at the reprimand from her friend, eyes round with shock. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but words wouldn’t come.  Finally, she flopped back in her chair and pointedly looked in the opposite direction of her friends and the brothers. 

Four chapters later, movement out of the corner of her eye pulled Amanda from the story of Catherine and Heathcliff.  Sam and Dean were gathering their things, getting ready to leave. Sam yanked his shirt out of the backpack and pulled it over his head, his left arm stiffly threading through the sleeve. He fitted the backpack over his right shoulder, hand around the strap to keep it from cutting into his skin.  He bent over to pick up the cooler with his other hand as Dean shook out their towels and grabbed his flip-flops. The green plastic cleared the ground by an inch then landed back in the sand with a soft thud. Pain contorted Sam’s features and Amanda could see him visibly fight the urge to curl his arm to his chest.

“Hey! You’re not a pack mule. You’ve got the backpack, I’ll get the cooler.” Dean draped the towels over one arm and hooked fingers through the straps to his flip-flops. He picked up the cooler with a grunt and walked ahead of Sam toward the boardwalk. As they approached, Dean’s face held a definite challenge, daring the girls to make a remark again. Sam’s long legs ate the distance Dean had created and they walked up to the friends side by side. Dean’s hand rested gently against the small of Sam’s back as he ushered him past.

“Amanda.” Sam acknowledged as they went by. She nodded a greeting in response.

“Bitch.” Dean spat as he crossed in front of Lissa.

Amanda bit the inside of her cheek to hide her grin at the insult and Lissa’s devastated look. She allowed her gaze to follow the retreating men until they topped the sand dunes and moved out of sight.

 

*****

 

Dean lifted the laptop from his sleeping brother’s lap, saving the report he had been working on when he dozed off. The Windows jingle tinkled softly as Dean shut down the computer, carefully setting it on the coffee table. 

“Sam. Sam.” Dean shook his brother’s shoulder gently. Eyelids slitted to reveal groggy hazel eyes and Dean considered it a small victory. He jostled Sam enough to heft him to his feet and with one hand on his back and the other wrapped around his arm, he guided his brother down the hallway. They passed the closed door to the spare room, Sam’s room even though he’d never laid his head there. It was a necessary evil to maintain the ‘brothers’ image they’d projected here, just in case they had company.  Fortunately, they didn’t invite people over and no one had dropped by unexpectedly.

Dean held Sam still while he bent over and dragged the sheet back on the bed. Sam had picked them out, clean and soft in a way that was alien to Dean at first. Fresh out of the package, they’d only been slept on by them. Small comforts to brothers not used to any. Guiding Sam down to the mattress, Dean pulled the sheet over his body. They removed the comforter last week and in a month’s time, even the sheet wouldn’t be necessary.

Dean brushed his teeth and stripped out of his t-shirt then climbed into the king size bed next to his brother. Like a synchronized dance, Dean moved his arm out and Sam, even in his sleep, turned and snuggled underneath, face in the crook of Dean’s neck, hand over Dean’s heart and leg threaded through Dean’s. 

Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains flanking the double windows of their bedroom, bathing the space in an ethereal blue glow. Even through the glass panes, the charge and retreat of the ocean waves was audible in the quiet of the room. Shifting, Sam’s hand traveled up from its place over Dean’s heart until his fingers could curl over his shoulder. Dean placed his fingers over the scars on Sam’s arm, each digit matched to a shiny line of healed skin. Automatically they started they’re nightly ritual, tracing a path up and down the scars, texture and shape memorized by touch. 

Dean closed his eyes, allowing the ministrations to soothe him. Unbidden, the blonde from the beach calling Sam handicapped and the destroyed look on Sam’s face flashed behind his eyelids. As if he sensed Dean’s anger returning, Sam snuffled and pressed his lips to the tender flesh beneath his brother’s ear.

“Sticks n stones,” he mumbled sleepily then pressed another kiss to Dean’s skin.

Dean’s arm tightened around Sam’s shoulders and he turned his head to press a kiss of his own into Sam’s baby shampoo scented hair. 

“You’re perfect to me, Sammy.” Dean’s fingers stilled on the scars and he drifted off to sleep. 

 


End file.
